From End to Start
by Kiwink
Summary: Heracles Potter was given a second chance. Armed with a gift from Death himself and permission to unleash his "true nature", Heracles is ready to flip the world up-side-down, even if it means teaming up with his"archenemy". Yet, will Heracles be able to resist the Dark Lord's magic, or will he succumb? You know what they say,"There's a fine line between love and hate." Slash! HP/LV
1. Summary

**Summary:** Heracles Potter, once known in an alternate universe as Harry Potter, died and was given a second chance. Armed with a gift from Death himself and permission to unleash his "true nature", Heracles is ready to face the world and flip it up-side-down. This enigma who will not conform to Dumbledore's definition of Golden Boy and who will do everything in his power to prove the prophecy wrong, strives to right the wrongs of Wizarding society, even if it means teaming up with his "archenemy". Yet, now that they're working together, will Heracles be able to resist the temptation of the Dark Lord's magic, or will he succumb to the seduction? You know what they say, "There's a fine line between hate and love."

**Pairings:** HP/LV-TR, One-sided SS-HP, others later to be determined.

**Warning: **Slash! (Meaning M/M, boy on boy, gay love, etc.). Violence, gore, and swearing. Dumbledore bashing, mild Ron bashing.

**A/N:** This is my first HP fanfic and I hope this story will become unique. I have a general idea of where I want to take this, but I do not have a full plot line planned out, meaning I am mostly making this up as I go. In this story, I want to depict Heracles (or Harry) as someone who is slightly off kilter, cracked, crazy, etc. You get what I mean. The war obviously affected his psych, and I want to show that when someone tells him that it is okay, he can finally reveal his "true nature", and a metaphorical barrier is lowered. Without having to deal with others expectations and instead focusing on his own wants, Heracles can crack and fray, allowing his broken psych to surface. Basically, we can see his craziness, natural apathy and cruelness he had been holding at bay for the sake of everyone else.


	2. Prologue

Bang!

Thud.

Silence rebounds.

Screams, chaos, uproar.

"No! The Savior! The Savior!"

Chuckles from the enemy.

"He's dead."

-0-

"Harry." Whisper, so thin and frail it trails off into wisps.

"Awake."

The command snakes out and threads through his consciousness, tugging and pulling until his eyelids open like shutters.

Recollections bubble and memories of his predicament and recent passing cause him to bolt up right. The hard ground underneath him is unforgiving.

Where?

"It's about time." He chuckles. His voice is warm, affectionate. Like a father welcoming home a long, lost son. Harry decides he likes his voice. It fills him with a sense of belonging and peace.

"What happen?" he asks. His neck cranes as he looks around the open space. Innocent white stretches in all directions, fading into a blank sheet, though the ceiling is low and cloud-like things swirl and pulse softly; almost in the rhythm of his heart.

"You're dead." Said so bluntly it causes a small shock.

"But I'm here." _Wherever here is._

Hearing the silent question in his words the voice answers, "The Inbetween. Where souls come before Final Judgement sorts them accordingly."

"Oh. And are you Final Judgement?"

There's silence that stretches like the Inbetween. A soft breeze, so warm, caresses his cheeks and suddenly there's a form kneeling in front of him, ambiguous. A shadow that's humanoid shape. In what Harry assumes is his hand is a book and around his neck, a key. Glowing green eyes stare into his identical ones.

"You're taking this rather well. Usually others start freaking out and blabbing about insanity and delusions."

Harry gives a dry smile. "My life has been a roller coaster of weirdness. You could say I've gotten use to the impossible."

The shadow snorts. "That's true. Fate really likes to mess with you. I guess you could say that it's my fault mostly."

Harry tilts his head. "How so?"

"He's always had a bone to pick with me. He says I come in too soon. Does he think I should wait until everyone dies of old age? Do you realize how over populated the world would be then? It might also be because he's jealous. I heard he applied for this job but was ultimately turned down." The shadow cracks a smile.

"You're Death." Harry shouldn't be surprised. Yet he is. Last time he bit the bullet, figuratively, Dumbledore was the one waiting for him. _Maybe he didn't have anymore wise words to share._ That last remark was suppose to be sarcastic if you didn't catch it. You could say Harry had reflected on his life plenty and came to the conclusion Dumbledore wasn't as great as he once thought.

"And you're my first creation."

Harry's confused expression makes Death chuckle. "What I mean to say is that I created you. Usually souls are recycled. What mortals label as reincarnation. When they first appear here Final Judgement occurs and the soul sees all its past sins. Then their memories are preserved in an Ocular and stored. Finally they're wiped clean and go into a stasis until a suitable body is ready to receive them.

"But you aren't like normal souls. I created you. You could say you're my son if it's easier to understand that way."

Harry's eyebrows slowly climb in disbelief. "Is that so? And pray tell, why did you do such a thing?"

The Shadow looks decisively uncomfortable. "Something has been interfering with the Balance. Day by day more and more souls are needed. Population is escalating. Though there have been numerous wars in the past century, it's still not enough. When the-what do you call them? Muggles?-When the muggles discovered the existence of magic the Balance was tipped. It was never suppose to happen.

"The magic and muggle world are actually two separate realities that intersect. One world can influence the other, yet they're meant to stay mostly segregated. If they become merged then utter chaos and annihilation occurs. This most recent war is an example of the result. When the muggles discovered the wizarding community the two realities overlapped and the Balance teetered.

"The prophecy Sybill Trelawney gave stated 'either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'. In truth, this line is talking about the parallel universes. If they merge into one, they cannot coexist."

Harry feels his stomach slowly falling, leaving behind a gaping hole that threatens to widen with each word Death utters. His whole life had been controlled and ruined by that ridiculous prophecy and it turns out it was never about him or Voldemort. And to rub salt into the wound, Voldemort was almost right in the end. The muggles were the ruination of the magic community.

When the muggles discovered the existence of magic, greed and jealousy took root. Magic can do unbelievable things, but stopping a bullet or an incoming missile was outside its perimeters. Before long, wizards and witches had to register, their wands were snapped, and they practically became slaves for the muggles. A black market was opened where wizarding children were sold. Some tried to fight back, there were even muggles who sympathized, yet the population of muggles far outweighed that of wizards. To each magical folk were over a thousand of the other.

Diagon Alley was no more. Hogwarts was no more. Each community was outed and then utterly destroyed. It was a massacre. And everyone turned to Harry Potter to save the day.

Harry Potter was just shot in the heart yesterday. Hope was killed.

"What now?" His words reflects the empty feeling creeping into his soul.

The world started ending twenty years ago. If what Death said was true, the realities had already merged.

Death comes closer and pulls his son into his arms. The Shadows fall and intertwine around the segment of its soul, stroking it in a reassuring motion. As if sensing the puzzle the piece was missing from, Harry's body relaxes and leans into the cool comfort. Death felt like home, a place where he belonged. The only other place that came close to this feeling was the walls of Hogwarts.

"Now you have a choice. Merge back with me to become one, become recycled and continue fighting a useless battle. Or…."

Harry's head tilts up to regard his father. "Or?"

"I can cash a favor in with Grandfather of Time and have him send you back."

"Back." The words are spoken so softly that Deaths has to inch closer to hear.

"To the beginning of your existence. You'll be armed with the knowledge of what is to come." The Shadows slowly retreat until Death can hold his heir at arms length. "Son, you can set the Balance right."

There's silence as thoughts and emotions flicker across Harry's face. "I've already had to save the world once."

His face leans back until he can look up into his father's. Glowing emeralds stare down to meet identical. "Why me?" His voice cracks with emotion.

Green softens. "I know it feels like the world is on your shoulders but I wouldn't choose anyone else for this responsibility. Harry, you're a part of me. I know your strengths and weaknesses, your convictions and values. Life has been hard for you, yet each hardship has taught you a lesson. If I didn't think you could do this I wouldn't have asked. Deep inside of you is something special. Something that is your own, that you created yourself. Like the prophecy said, you have a power I know not.

"Also, I'll be there. Maybe not in person but you're a part of me. Whenever it feels like too much, just know that I'm here, cheering you on. And no matter how your life goes, you'll always end up here. Your home."

Harry feels truly touched. Having a place that he could always return to fills him with something warm that buries its way into his heart.

"Send me back."

Death nods but he doesn't make any attempt to move. "Don't be afraid of who you truly are. I think it's about time you stop denying and fully accept. Before you go, I'm going to give you a give."

_Who I truly am? How does he know?_

Seeing the silent question Death grins and ruffles his son's hair. Harry squawks in indignation. "I'm almost forty for crying out loud!"

Ignoring his protests, Death answers his previous question, "I'm your sire. And it's about time you ignore everyone's expectation and let loose."

Shadows snake out once again and slowly wrap around Harry's kneeling form. Death draws him closer and places his hands on either side of his face. "No matter what happens Heracles, I'll always be proud of you." He places a light kiss on his son's forehead. Gold dust is left behind where he touched, slowly spreading like an ever reaching web.

"Heracles?" Harry questions.

Gold threads through his hair and down his arms, tracing an intricate pattern. Before long its reaching down his chest and pooling around his heart. A small tugging motion sets, slowly growing as each breath is exhaled.

"Your true name."

Death gives a warm smile. Love. Affection. And Pride practically glow in his emerald eyes. Identical ones meet his own.

Finally, with a sharp hook, Heracles nee Harry is pulled back into the past.


	3. Chapter 1

I previously posted this chapter, but then I got many reviews saying they were confused. So I went back and rewrote it.

* * *

Chapter 1

"Prongs, Lils, I'm here!" Boisterous footsteps walked from the doorway to the living room. The man was tall, though not overly so. He had wavy ebony hair that contrasted with his mischievous, grey eyes. A huge grin revealed straight teeth and a dimple on one side. His face was chiseled with a classical straight nose and high cheek bones, revealing an aristocratic heritage. In his hand he held a wrapped package that crinkled slightly each time it brushed against his black pants.

"Padfoot be quiet! We just got him to relax." The deep baritone of James Potter was whispered. He came from the kitchen to greet his friend with a warm smile, offering him a cup of butter beer.

Sirius Black grinned in mild embarrassed at being chaste by his best friend. He held out his present as a peace offering. "Sorry, sorry. So where is my godson?"

"In here Sirius." The melodious voice of Lily Potter drifted from the open doorway.

The two men paused in at the threshold and admired the view. Lily, with her fiery red hair sat at the kitchen table cradling her son in one arm and a bottle in the other. She tenderly rocked back and forth and lightly cooed.

They slowly approached and James carefully set the present on the table next to the baby's blanket. Sirius stared at the child with an almost bewildered gleam. Noticing his friend's expression, James clapped a hand onto his broad shoulder. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Sirius silently nodded.

Lily looked up and smiled softly at her husband's best friend. She waved him over. He hesitantly stepped closer to the pair and his arms awkwardly fumbled at his side. Slowly, the bundle of blue warmth was transferred from mother to godfather. Questing grey eyes met brilliant emerald.

"He looks just like you Lils," the words were whispered, almost with awe. Long fingers came up to caress soft, crimson hair.

-0-

"Take him and go Lils! I'll hold him off!" James Potter placed a chaste kiss to his wife's cheek and pushed her to the back of the house. His fingers bled to white around the smooth wood of his wand. Heart pounding a mile a minute James summoned up his famous Gryffindor courage and steeled his nerves. This was his family and he would do anything to protect them.

Smash!

The front door was blown off the hinges. Wood splintered and the wards blared a warning to the house's occupants. They arrived.

"Reducto!" The curse was screamed from behind a bone white mask.

Furniture burst, sending great plumes of stuffing to fly, like a sadistic mockery of puffy clouds.

Crash!

Lily clutched her wailing son to her bosom. Anti-apparition and anti-porkey wards were set and Death Eaters waited with barely restrained excitement at the back door. The only option was up.

"She's heading upstairs!" A rainbow of colors painted a hot trail after the fleeing mother.

"Leave them for me! They're mine." The falsetto voice uttered from the snake-like visage sent sharp pain climbing through James' veins.

"I won't let you harm my family!"

A chuckle, so airy and dry that it suck all warmth and moisture from the atmosphere. The Potter scion choked.

"James, ever the hero, aren't you? Always coming in and saving the day." A grin full of shark teeth.

"Bombarda-"

Glowing green, identical to Death's and his heir's, flashed.

Finally silence.

….

"Shhh, you have to be quiet. Please, be quiet. Mommy's here. She'll never leave you." Frantic breath was gasped into her son's ear. Slowly his screams died down to low whimpers. Giant diamonds fell, framing his cheeks in priceless pain. Lily Potter froze in terror at the oppressing silence. A mantra of James, James, James, beat in tune with her heart. Denial was evident. Reality wouldn't let her escape.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Three and it stopped.

Heartbeat?

or

Footsteps?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A march of torment.

Emerald eyes stared with longing at the woman cradling him. Filled with understanding. And resignation.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Creak.

The Devil came out to play.

"Stand aside and you shall be spared."

"Please! Not my boy. Anyone but him. Please! I'm begging you!"

"I'll let you live if you hand him over."

"No! Not him. Not my boy. Please! Take me instead!"

"Foolish girl."

thirteen and a half inches of yew tipped and pointed.

"Avada-"

Gold threads snaked out.

"Kedavra."

_"__Death marked him as His equal, and the one who falsely proclaims himself superior to the Grim Reaper, was vanquished in a shower of amber" _-Book of Prophet.

Fate's finger fell from the pages as his lips thinned in to a straight. Nature's equilibrium was tipped and the future was murky, clouded behind a veil that depended solely on a child's shoulders. The existence of all would either flourish or flicker out like a flame. Death's heir held the world in the palm of his hands.

-0-

Professor Mcgonagall glanced one last time at the blue bundle laying in the doorway of Privet Drive Number Four before she spun on her heels and disappeared with a resounding crack. Hagrid, the Grounds Keeper of Hogwarts, mounted the sleek, ebony motorcycle and was already a tiny dot amongst a spattering of twinkling stars. Dumbledore, an old wizened wizard rumored to be the most powerful since the existence of Merlin, remained on the silent street.

A cool breeze curled like wandering ghosts but didn't linger. Not a single blind fluttered with nosy neighbors, nor any wandering cats skitter about. Cotton balls muffled the world as it held its breath. It shattered when Dumbledore stepped forward, his sturdy shoes creating a clicking rhythm of slowly arising tension. Finally, it ended with a heavy clunk when he kneeled in front of the swaddled baby, a crisp, white envelope tucked securely within the folds of the blanket.

A sleek wand slid from the cuff of his sleeve to his waiting hands. He didn't hesitate before twirling and swishing the stiff wood while mumbling quietly in Latin. A sharp tug and a ball of glowing gold surfaced from the child's heart, floating gently in an invisible wind. A yellow glow highlighted the child in an ethereal halo, touching upon softly rounded cheeks, long eyelashes curling slightly, and thin lips parted as he slowly breathed a lazy pace.

The old man sighed and his long, wiry beard fluttered in response, touching down on the child's arm though the babe didn't move an inch.

"I'm sorry my boy, but this must be done for the Greater Good," his murmured words were soothing but his actions were a taboo that would make anyone gasp in disbelief and stunned horror, not even the infamous Dark Lord would hear the mere suggestion to use such an invasive spell.

Thin strands of pacific blue washed out on an undetectable current from Dumbledore's wand. They stretched like silly putty and branched out in to an intricate web to wrap around the fragile gold orb. It was a dance of caution and grace hinted with the calm of a serene ocean, but with a vicious slash from the smooth wand, the web constricted like a vice or a predator snapping its jaw around the struggling prey. The twinkling star buzzed and resisted, but the cyan bands of magic stretched in to thick bands that interconnected to create a smothering barrier that compressed the floundering sphere.

Emerald eyes snapped open and the baby gave a strangled cry as he struggled in his blanket, his arms flailing against the foreign constraint. The spell ended when the restraint ball of gold, swaddled in a opaque glass-like shield, lowered and returned to the child's chest. Dumbledore tucked his wand away and smoothed crimson hair as he softly cooed.

"Shhh, it'll get better. I'm sorry child but I can't let your magic grow. Take heart, you will be saving thousands and the Wizarding World owes you more than you know."

Dumbledore stood and straightened, clearing the lump from his throat and stared down at the child grimacing in discomfort. His watery, blue eyes softened and clouded with sorrow. A sharp crack later, and the street was empty, the distinguished lamps the only evidence of the abnormality that took place.

Green eyes blazed with smoldering hatred and anger, bitter memories surfaced and like a roaring fire it rose from his core. Small, shaky threads of gold weaved their way to the surface and waved like swaying stalks of grass in an unseen breeze. The doorbell was rang and the baby, eyes burning with burdens and experiences, waited with bated breath.

Familiar steps quickly fell down the stairs until they paused in front of the door. The boy could imagine her peeking through the eye hole with a weary disposition and whirling mind. Finally a click of a lock and sliding of a deadbolt and the door was opened. Warm air washed over the babe's blanketed form and combated the chill of Halloween's night. The woman gasped, her sallow eyes protruding from her head and her mouth fell agape, elongating her face in to a mock visage of a horse. Emerald eyes flicked up and locked with her ruddy brown, past feelings of hatred and pain at her negligence surface with vengeance.

Veins of gold whipped out and wrapped around her throat in a choking hold, immobilizing her and cutting off her strangled cry. Her hands fumbled and clawed, but where exposed skin touched, a searing black mark was painted, the dead skin shrinking in to taut strips of peeling dry leather. One by one, the strands inched like wandering fingers up her neck and hooked against her chin until they push past her gaping lips. A tidal wave of frigid fear swept through her veins and her brown eyes glazed. Finally, the searching strands found their target, and like Dumbledore, they consumed the tiny core and tugged. A dull grey slowly escaped Petunia's mouth, intertwined with sparkling gold. A flowing river of magic and pure energy touched his lips, and like a newborn babe with breast milk, he sucked.

The crystalline shell around his core cracked and liquid sunshine trickled out to strengthen the thin threads. The weak life force Petunia offered slowly decreased to a trickle. One by one the strands detached from her face to wrap around his body and he became a glowing form, that stretched and elongated, quickly growing in mass. The silhouette stood on shaking legs and gripped the edge of the door. Like a dimming light, the gold threads became one with his skin and disappeared, leaving behind flushed ivory. He inhaled and released the doorframe. Behind him, from the dark gloom of the oppressing house, boomed a voice that haunted his early childhood,

"Petunia? Who was at the door?"

The form bent down and picked up the blanket and fallen letter. Before the devil of his nightmares made an appearance, the boy stepped off the porch and disappeared with a crack. At the same time, the ashen silhouette of Petunia crumbled, and when her body hit the floor, she turned to dust.

-0-

An alarm blared an insistent tune as footsteps crunched over a dangerous spread of glass under the gaping window. A pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt was snatched from the hanging rack. Thunderous footsteps stampeded overhead and made their way downstairs. The man that ducked under the low ceiling had great berth and a hanging stomach that threaten to send his pants falling to the floor. His face was a ruddy red and a thin mustache snaked across his lips. His head was bald with small red patches and they peeled like a shedding crocodile. In his meaty grip was a shotgun with the barrel pointing heavenward in a disgusting violation of basic gun safety. The sight of the boy clothed in his merchandised set his mustache a flutter and a sneer of distaste curling his mouth. The silver end of the barrel gleamed as he leveled it at the child's chest.

"Comin' in here and stealing me stuff. Filthy street rat," he mumbled and clicked the safety off.

Penetrating emerald eyes locked on to the man's polluted blue, filled with a heavy dose of annoyance and abhorrence, he spat at the man's feet and raised an eyebrow, as if daring the overweight muffin to attack.

Collecting a great breath, the swine released a primitive roared and swung his shotgun like a heavy trunk to strike down the insolent brat, but before the polished metal could crunch bone and bruise flesh, gold strands darted out and suffused the shotgun and entered the pipe. An upheaval of strength contorted the weapon from the inside out, rendering it a useless piece of scrap. Finally, the threads reached the appalled oaf and pried his lips apart and wrestled his life essence with less finesse than the first time. Aurous fire consumed the dismal treat and quickly exited the body, disgusted with the vessel of lard and filth. Without any restraints, the body collapsed in to a heap of dust.

The boy exited through the vacuous window and wrinkled his nose at the slimy taste of the repulsive beast. In his heart though, the inferno consumed the extra soul greedily and distended, emitting waves of force to crash against its constraint. Spiderwebs branched out and a small chunk of the barrier fell away. And a granule of gold basked in the minimal amount of freedom it was offered.

-0-

The Wizarding World held its breath, aware that on this night, when the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest, something swelled and hung at the tip of its climax. One tiny push and the balance would collapse, sending a tidal wave to plummet down to earth. Whether this explosion would be for the best was up for debated.

The people who hung around Diagon Alley minded their own business. Thick cloaks drawn to hide their faces and their fingers itched towards their wands. Sharp eyes glanced at their surroundings from the corner and measured each passing stranger with suspicion. Since the war broke out, less and less people dared to venture out in to public, especially the Alley which had already been attacked numerous times.

The news of Voldemort's demise had not spread yet. The Old Man held it in the palm of his hands for the time being while he plotted and organized the tools for his long term machinations. Everything needed to be in order before the young child could become known as the Wizarding World's Savior.

The creatures that manned the desks in Gringotts, a wizarding bank believed to be impossible to rob, were diminutive in stature, requiring stools to see over the polished wood. Often times they were thought of as rude, bordering on condescending, and most wizards view them as inferior with a barbaric culture. Yet these same wizards expected them to protect their fortune. Without the genius and inventive minds of these so called "beasts" the economy would not flourish as such, nor would the rich be so wealthy without the wise decision of their advisers. Although the beings were not aesthetically pleasing to look at, they were far from lacking in the mental acumen in their tasks.

The child stood at the desk and scowled when he noticed his head barely peaked over the edge. A goblin with a crooked nose and wiry silver hair leaned forward and raised a bristly eyebrow in a patronizing manner.

"Name?" His tone was as if he was humoring the boy.

Emerald eyes flicked up to glare at the goblin. "Heri Potter."

Flinty stones narrowed as the creature regarded him, raking over his crimson hair and muggle tire. "I thought the heir to the Potter line was only a year old."

"I am."

Still watching him, the goblin slid a thin piece of paper across the counter. "One drop of blood."

The child raised an eyebrow. "Blood magic?" But he did what he was told.

Deep red, like the dying sun, mirroring the color of his hair, splattered on crisp white. The paper absorbed it and a second later attractive calligraphy flowed like water.

_Heracles Potter_

The paper finally came to a stop and sat innocently while its recipients stared with stunned eyes. Finally the goblin spoke up. "I thought you said your name was Harry Potter."

The child held back a snort. "It's Heracles, Heri for short." He spelled out his nickname for the creature.

The goblin nodded and hopped off his stool. He grabbed the slip of paper and came around the counter. "Follow me Mr. Potter."

He was led down a narrow hallway. The other goblins that passed them sent the child curious looks but didn't stop to ask. Finally, they stood in front of a frosted glass door. In gold plating was the name **Rickshaw**. The creature in front of him raised a gnarled fist and knocked. A gruff "come in" was heard from the other side.

The goblin behind the desk was older, his face ladled with numerous wrinkles and a deep frown lines. He wore a scowl as he stared at them and waited for the smaller goblin to speak.

"Mr. Potter wanted to discuss his account with you."

"Leave."

The creature placed the piece of paper on the edge of the desk, bowed, and shut the door on his way out. The boy eyed the weathered goblin curiously. He indicated the chair in front of his desk, and the child gracefully sat on the edge of his seat.

"My name is Rickshaw and I am the account manager for the Potters. What could I do for you today?"

"My father and mother have recently passed away, and I would like to review the state of my family's vaults and my trust fund." Before, when Harry had been clueless about his family's history and the Wizarding World, he never bothered to consult his account manager and figure out what he truly owned. He was content to live ignorant with the money he accumulated from his fame and trust fund. But now, when his true father, not in body but soul, practically told him to wisen up, Heri decided he would not succumb to the seduction of ignorance and laziness. Here, in his second chance, it was about time he employed his brain and unleashed what his father dubbed his "true nature".

Rickshaw's flat, grey eyes stared at him for a second, but then he turned and dug through a pile of folders. As the boy patiently waited, he laced his fingers in his lap. Finally, a thick packet of creamy paper was withdrawn and laid carefully on the mahogany desk. The goblin clipped a page from the middle and placed it in front of the child so he could read it while he indicated with a wrinkled finger.

A sharp nail came to rest next to James Potter's name. A small mark to the side indicated the man was deceased. "The Potter line has a family vault that you cannot access until you turn seventeen. As you can see here, your father had a separate account from the family. Your grandfather, Charles Potter, did not trust your father to manage the family fortune wisely. He created this vault for his son and barred your father from the family vault. James did not know this but Charles set up the vault so that when it reached a minimum of ten million galleons for a duration of five years he would have been granted access to the main vault." Here the goblin paused and his mature face hardened and eyes turned cold. "Unfortunately, before your father reached his twentieth birthday, the vault only had ten percent of what it started out with."

The boy's eyes widened until white surrounded jade. His mouth parted slightly in both disbelief and horror. Finally, gathering his wits, pink petals pressed in to a thin line in barely constrained anger. Previous pools of liquid green hardened in to stones of emerald, fractured and reflecting fiery fire. "How did this happen?"

Rickshaw smirked at the child's anger. "When the war started, against my consultations, your father invested a good sum of his fortune in the fight against the Dark Lord." He paused for a second and seemed to be contemplating something. "Do you know whom I am talking about?"

The child resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead opt to nod his head.

Coming to a decision, the goblin leaned forward and his hands came to rest on the desk. "Mr. Potter, I do not wish for you to think ill of your father. I am merely discussing his poor choices in managing his money. But I think you deserve to know the full truth without me trying to sugar coat it. This does not only affect your inheritance but also the future you may lead."

The boy offered a small smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Exactly to whom did my father donate his money to and was it noted what for?"

The goblin gave a conclusive nod and settled back into his chair. "About seventy-five percent went towards Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the ICF, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He signed the money under the pretense of 'Donation towards Hogwarts'. If it was indeed a donation, the money would have been signed over to the Board of Governors of Hogwarts. Instead, it went directly into Mr. Dumbledore's personal account.

"Finally, another ten percent went towards your trust fund, which is self explanatory. The remaining was used over the years for living expenses and the like."

The child clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, reigning in his anger at his father's foolishness. He had a wife and a newborn baby to support and he practically gave away the Potter fortune to the Old Man. Though money wasn't the world, it was a necessity to not only survive but also thrive. James' account flowed more than a faucet.

"How much is left in my father's account?" the boy finally asked but his eyes remained closed.

Shuffling of papers could be heard and a second later Rickshaw spoke, "Exactly 19,839 Galleons, 867 Sickles, and 9861 Knuts."

"Can you create a new account and transfer that amount into it?" Jade eyes opened and looked at Rickshaw.

He slowly nodded his head as he calculated, all the while digging through the stack of paper. "That will cost ten Galleons for the new account. And what name would you like it to be registered under?" The goblin picked up a quill and started to fill out a form.

"Use my alias Caspian Mors. Make sure it has no connection or evidence towards the Potter line. Untraceable is preferable. If someone inquires, say my father owed others debt."

The goblin paused and glanced up. "Mr. Potter, what you are asking for is not part of our standard dealings, here at Gringotts." Meaning: _If you want me to be hush-hush, cash up the big bucks_.

The child gave a dry smirk. "I assure you Mr. Rickshaw, you won't be leaving this dealing empty handed.

"Finally, I would like you to become my account manager and invest in these magical and muggle companies I have listed. You may keep three percent of the income as payment." He withdrew a small sheet of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. The goblin accepted it and put it to the side with a new folder for his account.

"And what do you want to do with your trust fund?" Assured he wasn't doing this for not, the creature returned to the forms.

"Leave it for now."

The goblin turned the thick parchment around to face the boy, placing a red feathered quill next to his hand.

"I just need a signature here and here, and a drop of blood will gain you a key to Vault 81."

The youth did as he was told, and when his blood dripped carefully on the runic circle, a shiny gold key appeared in the epicenter. He conjured an aurous thread and the key was fastened to it so it became a necklace. He stood and thanked the goblin, offering a handsome fee for his services.

The goblin smirked. "Thank you Mr. Mors. It was great doing business with you, and may your gold forever flourish."


End file.
